


Keep Me Hangin' On

by cherryvanilla



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Friends to Lovers, M/M, Texting, summer flings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-01
Updated: 2016-01-01
Packaged: 2018-05-05 18:58:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5386805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryvanilla/pseuds/cherryvanilla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>how’s the altitude in colorado treating you?</i> is the text Nate gets on his first day of training camp.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keep Me Hangin' On

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ologist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ologist/gifts).



> Hope you enjoy this treat! :D
> 
> Edited notes: thanks to Amanda for beta and Veronica for cheerleading. <3

_how’s the altitude in colorado treating you?_ is the text Nate gets on his first day of training camp. 

It’s from ‘lil croz’ because Nate likes to be inconspicuous that way. Matty leans over on the locker room bench, sees the text and snorts.  
  
"Tell Sid it's peachy keen."  


Nate flips him off and angles his phone away. Alright, so maybe it isn't very inconspicuous, seeing as he broadcasts that nickname on social media, but he just -- likes it. Also, he’s the only one who calls Sid that and Sid actually _lets_ him, even though Sid’s not little (in, well, any fashion), is certainly not the youngest Crosby, and is absolutely older than Nate. 

But those are things Nate tries not to think about (especially the age thing and being the same age as Sid’s little sister) because it makes what happened over the summer feel weird. 

Nate really, really doesn’t want to make this weird. Being able to hang out with Sid again -- first at Worlds and then this past summer -- had been great. 

Sid was fun, which Nate is pretty sure most people who only know _of_ him fail to realize. He’s fun and he’s competitive and he’s generous, and Nate couldn’t remember when he enjoyed hanging out with someone that much. 

And then the sex had started, and Nate _definitely_ couldn’t remember when he enjoyed hanging out with someone that much.  
_____________________________

They’d hung out in the Summer of 2014, it’s not like they hadn’t. They were together at the NHL Awards and back home a bit. They went shopping together, bought shit for the Ice Bucket Challenge, did that whole -- thing. And yeah, Nate’s eyes had drifted to Sid’s soaked shirt and the way his nipples had hardened. How could they not? 

They trained, went to Florida, came back home. Nate would pick Sid up, drive him to the rink, drive him home. They'd sit in Nate's car and talk before Sid went inside. Sometimes he'd invite Nate in. And nothing happened. Sid had still kind of treated him like a kid. 

Until Worlds, when he’d catch Sid’s eyes on him, again and again. Nothing happened in Prague though, either. Sid was all business, wanting to win something since he couldn’t win it during the regular season. 

They chirped and teased each other constantly, and Nate was _pretty_ sure he flirted shamelessly the first time they met up for lunch when back in Cole Harbour. 

He didn’t know what he expected to happen or even if it should. Fucking with friends (pun intended) was a recipe for disaster. 

This was Sid, though. Sid, who his adolescent self used to jerk off to, while staring at Sid’s poster over his bed. When Sid leaned over after driving Nate back to his house, the street dark, all Nate could think of was, “This is actually real, actually happening, not some teenage fantasy.” 

In his fantasies (as recent as Worlds), Sid would always kiss him roughly and sure and Nate would melt into it. In reality, Sid closed the distance so slowly that Nate was sure he’d die before their lips met. And just before they did he drew it out even more, whispering, “Is this okay?” 

His voice was soft but serious, and Nate stared back at him, eyes wide, swallowing hard before whispering back, “Yeah. Let’s just -- yeah.” 

Sid had smiled, quick and sharp, maybe a little helpless, before pressing his mouth to Nate’s. They made out in Sid’s car and Nate -- well, he sometimes forgot he was only 19, but he certainly felt like the teenager he was in that car, given the clumsy making out and fogged up windows. 

He had no intention of reminding _Sid_ of his age when they were in that car, though, lest he come to his senses or something. 

It didn’t go further than some groping, and Nate figured that might be it. Until it happened again. After a session at Sid’s hockey school, everyone already gone and Sid and Nate packing up their shit. Sid grabbed his arm before they could leave the locker room, spun Nate against the door, kissed him hot and hard, saying things like, “You’re so good out there,” and “Asshole, had to outscore me in that scrimmage, didn’t you?” 

Nate just gasped and pressed his body full up against Sid’s, grinding against him until they both came in their jeans. Sid giggled against his neck, making Nate shiver, his body still trembling. “Can’t believe I just did that,” he said, still laughing. 

Nate smiled and pressed his nose into Sid’s neck. “Takes two to tango.” 

That had only made Sid laugh harder; that ridiculous, infectious laugh that Nate couldn’t listen to without busting out into a fit of giggles himself. 

“Let’s shower and then I’ll buy you dinner,” Sid said once he got himself under control. 

“Oohh, big spender.” 

“I have a feeling you’re a cheap date,” Sid deadpanned, stripping as he headed toward the shower.

Nate had let his eyes wander in the shower, trying to be discreet about it, but Sid was looking right back so it didn't really matter.

_________________________________

It went on that way for the rest of the summer. They didn't talked about it. At all. That part surprised Nate more than all the sex. He’d sort of expected there to be a serious conversation, a breakdown of their actions, maybe Sid going over the play by play. 

Except it never happened, and to be honest Nate was pretty confused when the day for them to leave came and Sid just smiled at him, pulled him into a hug and said, “Have a great season. You’re ready.” 

That brings him to now and the texting. 

_you get used to it_ Nate replies back. _don’t you have a ton of hills in pittsburgh?_

 _you get used to it ;-)_ Sid parrots back. 

His smiley face is so fucking 1990s. Or so Nate’s been told. 

He jerks off that night to the memory of the last time they did it, celebrating Nate’s 20th birthday in Sid’s huge bed, the two of them 69ing with vigor, like it was a competition of who could make the other come first. In all honesty, it basically was. 

(Nate won that round.)  
________________________________

The texting… doesn’t stop. It’s daily, actually. Multiple times per day at that. Sid’s never been this much of a texter in the whole time Nate’s known him. It’s… strange. 

The messages aren’t anything special, but they seem significant nonetheless. 

“What’s it mean when someone -- texts you constantly? Like, just little ‘hi hello how’s your morning’ type things?” Nate asks Gabe one night. It’s not like Gabe’s so much older or more worldly than Nate is, but he _is_ his captain, so that’s gotta count for something, right? 

“It means they probably want in your pants.” 

_What if they’ve already been in my pants?_ Nate thinks to himself. 

Two beers later, he says just that. 

“Then they wanna date you. Probably. I dunno, man, ask Iggy. He’s wise and all.” 

“I’m not asking Iggy,” Nate mumbles into the wood of the hotel bar.

It’s late October. Nate’s been playing great, Sid’s been texting him non-stop for weeks. He should be happy as a clam, but all he is is hella confused. 

When he gets back to his room he fumbles for his phone while flopping back onto the bed. 

_i want u 2 kiss me agin_ he types, half asleep and half drunk, and especially not in any position for words like this to be flowing from his fingertips. 

He hovers over the send button, eyes catching on Sid’s last text to him. 

_the leaves have changed here. it’s pretty, always is. not as nice as home, though._

The words are so dumb and sweet and so Sid. 

Nate deletes his text without sending it. 

______________________________

That wouldn’t be the first time Nate does that. When he’s feeling needy and -- let’s face it -- horny, he finds himself pulling out his phone and writing the filthiest shit he can think of. It helps to get the words out of him and onto something tangible, even if the end result is always deletion. 

He wants to call up Sid and ask him what is happening here, what they’re doing. But Sid’s dealing with his own shit of having a slow start to the season and his team not doing so hot; Nate doesn’t need to add to all that. 

So he waits it out until it practically kills him. Because Sid’s been texting about their upcoming matchup and Nate figures if he’s going to actually bring this up it might as well be in person and not over text like this is high school. 

The team gets into Pittsburgh late Tuesday night. Sid texts him while he’s on the plane. 

_wanna go out tomorrow night or just hang at my place?_

Nate’s heart swoops a little that. Sid hadn’t even asked if they’d be seeing each other tomorrow, instead just naturally assuming they’d hang out. It feels like a standing date. It feels _nice_. 

_ur place is fine_. 

If Nate’s going to question their -- _whatever_ status, he’d rather do it in private. 

_sounds good. night :-)) rest up._

“Jesus,” Nate mutters to himself. 

He likes this guy so much it’s practically unfair. 

______________________________

Nate’s jittery the next day. He doesn’t eat much breakfast, he’s nervous during morning skate and he shoots his mouth off during post-practice interviews, saying how he hopes Sid gets more points than he does by the end of the year and how he’s “just a buddy of mine.” 

He might as well have put up a neon flashing sign that said, “Nope, we haven’t fucked at all, don’t know what you’re talking about, nothing to see here.” 

He takes an unsatisfying nap and then considers cancelling like a coward. 

He doesn’t, and Sid picks him up in front of the hotel. 

“Hey buddy,” Nate says as he climbs in. 

“Hey,” Sid replies, voice warm and a stupidly happy smile on his face. 

Nate finds he can’t look at him too long, like Sid’s the sun or something. 

“That mustache is terrible,” Nate says, because he needs to say something. 

“Good cause,” Sid shrugs, smile not breaking. 

He starts driving, but Nate can feel his eyes on him every so often. 

“Beard looks good,” Sid finally says, almost too casually. 

Nate’s mouth runs dry. His fingers clench on his thigh. He wants that to have meant something. He hopes that Sid’s been -- well, missing Nate in ways that go beyond friendship. Or at the very least ways that include buddy fucking. Nate remembers the last time they did it, how he rubbed his stubble all over Sid's inner thighs and listened to his soft, panting gasps before licking up his cock. 

They talk about the season because hockey is safe. 

By the time they get to Sid’s house Nate’s nerves have calmed some. That only lasts until they make it through the door, because then Sid’s pulling him in for a tight and amazing embrace, nosing along the side of Nate’s neck. 

“Missed you,” he whispers and that’s when Nate loses the ability to speak. All he can do is stand there and hug back, mouth open as he gapes like a fish. 

“Uh... “ he finally says when his brain gets back on track. “Missed you too?” 

Sid laughs and pulls back, their faces way too close. “So that’s a question?

Nate shakes his head, blinking, gaze helplessly drifting to Sid’s mouth. “No, I. Missed you, too.” He’s about to lean in and kiss Sid any second here, so instead he punches him lightly in the arm, tacking on, “Buddy,” and smiling. 

Sid frowns, moving back. “Oh,” he says, shoving a hand awkwardly into one of his pockets. “Yeah, no, that’s cool.” 

Now Nate’s _really_ fucking confused. “What’s cool?” he snaps. 

Sid chews on his bottom lip and waves a hand between them. “Being -- you know, keeping this. Whatever. As friends.” 

Nate huffs out a laugh, shaking his head incredulously. “Man, I thought -- I mean, isn’t that what’s being going on here, since we left home?” 

“Well, no. I thought we’d been dating, I guess.” 

Now Nate’s laughing for real. Sid looks pissed, but he can’t help it. Of course that would be Sid’s way of dating. No sexts, no flirting, no terms of endearment. Just basically non-stop talking to show Nate he’s thinking about him, little innocuous texts spread-out throughout the day so that anytime his phone would buzz it sent Nate’s heart jumping in his chest and his pulse skyrocking 

In a way it was probably better than sexting. 

(In a way.) 

Nate sobers, steps in closer and cups Sid’s face in his palms. “Yeah, no, you’re right. We’re totally dating. _Low-key_ dating, eh?” 

Sid snorts but at least he’s not frowning anymore. “Sure, if that’s what you wanna call it, _Nathan_.” 

Nate rolls his eyes. “I don’t care what we call it, _Sidney_ , as long as we do something about it.” 

Sid raises one hand, brushes his thumb along Nate’s beard. “Fuckin’ brat,” he huffs, but he’s smiling super hard now. Nate loves that. He’s also dragging his finger over Nate’s lips, which Nate is totally not adverse to. “I was gonna make dinner first, but if you insist.” 

Nate insists alright. He’s not sure who moves first but their mouths fit together like they never parted ways and that’s kind of the way Nate feels when he’s back around Sid in general.  
He groans when Sid licks between his lips, their tongues tangling. Sid’s mustache tickles his face as they kiss but he can’t even care. 

Later, when they’ve come and eaten dinner and then come again, Nate oh so casually asks if they can introduce sexting and skyping into their dating. 

“I’m gonna be terrible at that,” Sid warns. 

Again, Nate can’t even care. 

He’ll take whatever he can get; the good, the bad, the awkward. Because it’s Sid and he’s no longer some fantasy. He’s the real deal and Nate’s not about to let him go just yet. 

end.


End file.
